


The Carriage Held but just Ourselves and Immortality

by SeptSapphire



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 17:56:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15030116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeptSapphire/pseuds/SeptSapphire
Summary: Humans age. Androids, effectively, do not.Decades after androids integrate into society, Connor sits on a park bench and contemplates the mortality of humans.





	The Carriage Held but just Ourselves and Immortality

Detroit didn’t have many sunny days. Grey skies and scattered showers were all too common for the city, a dreary overcast that hung low in the sky and made people hurry past with heads tucked down under hoods or dark umbrellas. It was maybe for this reason that truly sunny days, where a pleasant warmth soaked into his circuits and drew flocks of faces onto the street, stuck out clearly in Connor’s memory.

On a warm and clear day like today, Connor slowed his pace, enjoying the near-overload of unique sights, sounds, smells he could sense from the crowds around him. His feet moved on their own as he let his inner processors absorb the stimulus, and it wasn’t until he’d reached the small park tucked deep in the city that he recognized where he was headed. 

He’d walked this way with Hank, years ago. It had been another rare sunny day, a Saturday, after a particularly slow week of work. They’d drifted along the wide paths, Connor unable to help taking wide-eyed notice of everything he’d never needed to notice Before. It hadn’t been part of his directive Before, wouldn’t have helped him complete his mission and catch deviant androids. After, he noticed just how much he had missed, and just how little he’d experienced for all his assured sense of purpose and duty.

They’d sat on a bench that looked out across the center field of grass, shoulders brushing and maintaining a warm line of contact between the two. Hank had stretched himself out, reclining into the back of the bench, while Connor perched somewhat uncertainly on the edge until a gentle nudge had him sitting back a bit as well. It had been… nice. To feel that contact, that closeness that was still foreign to him even After. Connor had edged a cautious hand into their shared space, and Hank had grumbled something about “touchy-feely androids,” but he had rested his own palm within Connor’s, and the ghost of a smile lingered on his half-turned away face.

Connor’s memory banks pulled the moment up in picture-perfect clarity. They ensured he would never forget a single detail, and calling up his memories was practically like reliving them. He still felt something hollow climb into his inner circuits and lodge itself there. Somehow, it wasn’t the same. He burned with the knowledge that he could never experience that moment again, not really, not in the way that mattered most.

It had been years since androids had started to see themselves as equals to humans and integrate into human life. There were a fair number of functioning androids who remembered the initial protests, but few humans who could honestly say they were old enough to remember the time before androids had – legally, at least – been recognized as equals. Most androids today were slicker, shinier models than the more task-oriented models of the past, designed for multipurpose lifestyles and raised in a world that didn’t instill servitude as their prime objective. The androids of the past were becoming rarer to see, and those that were still around had largely chosen to replace parts of their old, failing systems, until only their memory banks stood as evidence of their age. Many androids had instead simply chosen to let themselves fail, weary and looking for rest. Earlier models, those not built to outlive their owners, often saw more value in such a fate. As a more advanced model, Connor had not yet been confronted with such a decision, and didn’t imagine he would be for a good number of years.

He would never get old, not really. He would rust and grow stiff with use if not properly cared for, his parts may start to slow or fail – he could choose to replace them, he could choose to let them stutter to a halt – but he would have the same face, full of the same youth as they day he’d first been activated. He’d never develop the creases and lines that came with aging, never have his hair turn grey of its own volition, without any conscious programming, never have his skin grow loose and thin or his eyesight falter. 

Humans aged. Humans grew grey hair before they wanted it, slowed and stooped and grew exhausted with their age. They couldn’t keep up their old pace, couldn’t simply replace portions of themselves to become good as new. Cells, yes, they could replicate and replace. But telomeres shortened, replication slowed, cells committed apoptosis for nonfunctional DNA spread throughout the body. Biological lifeforms were not androids.

Humans were different. Hank had been different.

Connor settled himself on the park bench, missing the line of comfortable contact like a phantom limb. He didn’t yet know what he would do when his thyrium pump started to slow or his inner fan system stopped cooling. He had years before such a decision would be necessary to think about, let alone act on. He would likely have hundreds of cases between then and now – cases he worked alone, always alone. Hundreds, maybe thousands of dark, rainy skies and thick cloud cover, the knowledge of the cold without ever feeling the need to shiver or cross his arms or bundle himself in thick layers of fleece and wool.

And maybe, just maybe, a handful of bright sunny days like today would be in his future as well. As he sat on the bench, letting the sensations of the park filter through his system, Connor found himself hoping for more of those sunny days.

**Author's Note:**

> Small disclaimer that I was hit with this idea at 1 am and as a result I may have missed some typos - feel free to let me know if I did. 
> 
> Title from Emily Dickinson's "Because I could not Stop for Death"
> 
> If you enjoyed, consider [buying me a Kofi!](http://ko-fi.com/septsapphire)


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